


I Guess I'm Dreaming Again

by stultiloquent



Series: Teacher!Gerard Wayfire [1]
Category: My Chemical Romance, Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF), Video Blogging & YouTube RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, M/M, Teacher-Student Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-21
Updated: 2013-05-21
Packaged: 2017-12-12 12:47:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/811751
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stultiloquent/pseuds/stultiloquent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes Dan visits Mr. Way in the art room just to be near him. Mr. Way lets him in every time, even if Dan is just sitting at the benches doing homework for other subjects. Sometimes they'll chat, and sometimes they'll work in silence, Dan typing up essays and Mr. Way marking assignments. Sometimes Dan will look up, and his eyes will meet Mr. Way's, and they'll smile.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Guess I'm Dreaming Again

**Author's Note:**

> This was meant to be a little 1000- words oneshot that somehow spiralled into 14000+ words of UST, so I'll apologise if you're looking for a short fic with lots of smut. I also got a little self-indulgent when I tried to place Dan in an art lesson, so it may be more reflective of my own woes than how he copes with art lessons IRL. (Then again, I don't think he's ever studied art in secondary school.) None of this is beta'd, so if you see any mistakes please notify me.  
> Title's taken from Crushcrushcrush by Paramore.
> 
> Disclaimer: Don't own, never happened, blah and stuff.
> 
> Edit: the lovely ~emjoy2000 has made a cover for this fic! I've put it here before the text. Check it out!

 

 

 

 

  
  


(Cover made by ~emjoy2000 [on deviantART](http://emjoy2000.deviantart.com/art/I-Guess-I-m-Dreaming-Again-cover-377012416).)

 

 

 

Dan wakes up to the sound of – not his alarm clock ringing, but his mom banging on his bedroom door.

“Wha-?” Dan mumbles and rolls over, eyeing the alarm clock propped up against a pair of glasses, straighteners and books on the bedside table. It informs him, somehow mockingly, that he is fifteen minutes away from a detention for being late to school.

Dan’s immediate reaction is a loud “Shit!”, and hopping around in circles pulling on the school uniform. He forgoes the hair-straightening and goes to wash up at lightning speed because he would really like to get his ass out of the house in ten seconds, thanks. He scoops up his schoolbag with one hand, grabs the crumpet with the other when he rushes into the kitchen and ducks out again before he gets intercepted by his mum’s usual hugging and hair-ruffling. He’s halfway down the road by the field between his home and school, when he remembers he’s left the psychology paper on the printer tray at home. _Of course._ With his fucking luck, he’d probably get a cramp and die in the middle of the road.

Okay, so that probably doesn’t happen in real life, but still, he’s got the shittiest luck. This is only confirmed when he finds out from Phil that they’ve got some kind of monologue that’s gonna be assessed today in drama that morning – wait, monologue, what monologue? His life, seriously. He does a spectacular headdesk right in the middle of the first period meeting in the homeroom, certified by a loud thunk that gets a few looks from other classmates. He lets them look. Call him emo, but he’s too preoccupied with self-pity at the moment.

History is the land of ultimate boredom that totally induces suicidal tendencies, and he gets glared multiple times for doodling in his notebook. English Literature springs a surprise timed essay on him, and in his mind Ms. Payne dies in a thousand different ways possible – although, not really. She’s usually a cool teacher, but that still doesn’t reverse the fact that he sucks at timed essays. He ends up bullshitting half of the stuff he’s put on the paper. Lunch is a whirlwind of ten minutes gobbling and running around trying to get permission to use the school printer to reprint his psychology paper. He manages to submit it in time in Psychology afterwards, but then he gets to Art a whole ten minutes late because of course they relocated the classes to the other side of the school and Dan isn’t notified. Dan doesn’t even remember why he chose art at all; maybe it was for the extra credits. But he’s already not the artiest student in his class, and he doesn’t need more reasons for the teacher to give him C’s.

Sighing, he utters an apology and slinks into the nearest empty seat, then commences on making himself look as small as possible. He hears Mr. Smith picking up from where he left off, but something’s off. Dan glances up, and it isn’t Mr. Smith at the front, it’s – somebody else. He asks the guy sitting next to him on the same bench in whispers. “Mr. Way. New art teacher, mostly does subs for now. Mr. Smith called in sick today,” the guy whispers back. Huh. He looks up again, and the man’s still talking, but he’s getting increasingly animated, using his hands a lot and reminding Dan of last year’s biology teacher, Hank Green. He’s left the school now because every good teacher eventually does, fucking stupid school. Anyway, Mr. Way is still semi-flailing, so Dan stops thinking about other things and actually pays attention; maybe what he has to say is just as interesting.

Dan means to listen attentively, he does, but he catches himself checking the art teacher out. Mr. Way’s got black slacks and a plain white shirt on, the cuffs buttoned, and adorned by a red tie that’s mostly hidden under a plain black waistcoat. He completes the apparel with a pair of chucks, which is admittedly a bit odd, but it works. Dan doesn’t know what the hell’s wrong with him, he sees guys wearing ties and plain white shirts in the school corridors and classrooms all the time, but somehow Mr. Way just looks _really_ fine in those clothes. But then again, none of those other guys had his face. He’s got youthful features, his pale complexion contrasting with his messy shoulder-length hair, jet black and so obviously dyed. Dan can’t really see well from his angle, but, _shit_ , is that eyeliner? It gives Mr. Way a slightly feminine look, but he somehow pulls it off looking pretty _and_ hot all at once. Slightly intrigued would be the wrong words to use here; Dan can’t stop staring.

So, naturally, when Mr. Way looks over to his way – it’s just a small glance, but a look nonetheless – and catches Dan staring at him, Dan can’t look away in time. Which, great, now he probably thinks Dan’s a creep that has a hobby of staring at substitute teachers. Dan hopes his facial expression wasn’t too stupid, but he looks downwards anyway just to be safe. And, worse still, now Mr. Way’s stopped talking and everybody’s leaving their seats, gravitating to the supplies cupboard to prepare for whatever the fuck they are supposed to do, and Dan hasn’t comprehended a word of the task they’re supposed to do because he was too busy eye-fucking his substitute art teacher. Fuck. He sits there looking slightly forlorn and contemplating his next step, but before he can make an escape and ask a random person what their task is for the lesson, Mr. Way’s already coming over to his bench. “Are you Daniel Howell?” Dan freezes, and looks guiltily up to the teacher. Hot, his brain reminds him uncooperatively, and a boner is exactly the last thing he needs in an art lesson.

“I – yeah. That’s me,” Dan manages to get out. He steels himself a bit and adds, “Um, I’m sorry for being late. I thought we were still having the lesson in the old room, and just, yeah. I’m sorry.” Dan internally cringes; it sounds so much like a flimsy excuse even to himself.

To his surprise, Mr. Way just ticks off Dan’s name on the register and waves his hand a bit like it’s no big deal. “I’m just your substitute art teacher, I won’t be the asshole that hands out detentions.” Dan notices that Mr. Way talks with a slanted mouth, one side opening bigger than the other, and it’s a little intimidating and does nothing to quell his fright, even though Mr. Way’s said clearly that he doesn’t mind. But then he drops the bomb.

“What I wanted to ask is why you’re sitting here and not doing anything.”

Dan apologises again, and there’s really no easy way out but to admit that he wasn’t paying attention. God, he’s actually gonna die of embarrassment. He stares at the ground instead of Mr. Way, awaiting his verdict with a hugely visible blush all over his face and neck. But Mr. Way doesn’t admonish him, just says, “It’s okay, happens to the best of us.” Dan looks up with a surprised expression. Mr. Way explains, “You just looked so guilty, and it’s honestly a little hilarious, no offence. But you’re just ten minutes late, and you haven’t missed much. Please do pay attention next time and don’t be late again – I’m supposed to tell you that, yeah, but it’s not like you’ve committed a crime.” Mr. Way shrugs. Then he repeats the whole explanation of the task just for Dan, and if Dan isn’t being relieved, he’s pretty sure he would’ve been too distracted by Mr. Way’s looks to hear what he’s saying again. But he’s in love with Mr. Way either way, because this is the first lesson of the day where things don’t go to shit.

“So you know what to do now? You won’t be sitting here all alone and looking like a sad puppy anymore?” Mr. Way asks, and Dan laughs at the latter question.

“No, I’m good,” he promises, and tries to quieten the part of his brain that thinks they’re flirting.

“Sure?” Mr. Way’s smiling too, now, and fuck if that isn’t worth swooning over. He smiles like a girl, all pretty and sweet. Dan is so screwed.

He manages to reply with a simple, “I’m sure.” And Mr. Way leaves him alone for the better part of the lesson after that.

 

 

* * *

 

Dan doesn’t get his painting finished in time, and when the bell rings, all he can do is look at his half-finished canvas in dismay. Out of all the media he can’t handle, painting is his worst, but Mr. Smith just has to set that as the task the day he isn’t here to help him with his brushstrokes, doesn’t he. Dan sighs half-heartedly and decides to revisit the painting another day, maybe try to right the disaster a bit, but he can already envision it going into the trash pile and not making it for the end of year coursework assessment. What’s worse, is that now he’s the last person to leave the classroom, so the duty of cleaning up any neglected paintbrushes and spills is more or less left to him. To top it off, he’s now all alone in the classroom with Mr. Way. He doesn’t know whether to rejoice over that or curse his luck and pray to God he doesn’t do something stupid. In the end, he just keeps quiet and wipes the spills as fast as he could, feeling overly self-conscious. He scuttles out of the classroom the moment he’s packed everything up.

 

 

* * *

 

The next art lesson of the week, Dan walks into the classroom to find Mr. Way up at the front of the classroom again, waiting patiently for everybody to file into the room. Dan is pretty puzzled, and someone supplies helpfully that apparently Mr. Smith is in the hospital now, nothing too serious, but still enough to keep him on leave for the rest of the month, and Mr. Way’s gonna be covering every lesson until then. Dan’s stomach does a few flips, and he feels a bit guilty for being excited because there’s a teacher in the hospital. He shouldn’t be feeling celebratory, hot substitute art teacher or no. Still, he spends the lesson surreptitiously staring at Mr. Way while trying to be as invisible as possible again, and he almost succeeds to stay out of his attention for the entire class. Almost. 

Fifteen minutes before class ends, Mr. Way decides to come over to his bench to check on student progress, and he stops by Dan’s side. Dan swallows and concentrates on completing his sketch, fighting off the urge to look up.

“What happened to the painting from Tuesday, Daniel?”

Dan cringes as he looks up – it’s almost a reflex reaction now to teachers calling him by his full name, but this time it’s more to do with the very mention of his painting, he’s sure.

“I um, I’m really bad with paints. And Tuesday’s painting’s kinda ruined…” He trails off, biting his lip. He lowers his eyes to the sketch in front of him again.

“It looked fine.” Dan peers up at Mr. Way in disbelief. Mr. Way laughs, and, gosh, how can Dan find that attractive too? It’s just noise, Jesus. “Okay, maybe you need more practice, but you’re not that bad. And believe me, painting isn’t that hard.”

“It is, for me.” Dan mumbles despairingly.

“Well, just try, that’s all I’m asking. Don’t limit yourself to one or two media for now, you’re still young.” Mr. Way says with a smile, and that horrible feeling of self-consciousness comes creeping back. Maybe he didn’t meant it, but what Mr. Way said is kind of patronising, and reasonably so as well. Dan is young, which is why he shouldn’t be having inappropriate thoughts about the teacher, fuck.

Dan bites his lip again, and since when did that become a habit of his? He sighs, but thanks Mr. Way.

“No problem. You know, if you’re really struggling with paints, you can always stay behind after school. Not to sound self-absorbed, but painting’s kinda my forte.” Mr. Way pauses a bit, grinning a little, and Dan notices he has sharp little teeth. Kind of weird, but adorable in a way. Dan wants to lick them. Shit. “So think about it. I don’t leave the school until seven, and I’ll be here the whole time.”

Dan’s stomach does flips again, except more ferocious ones that make him feel like he just got off a roller coaster. Mr. Way’s just being nice, he reminds himself. Still he considers the proposition – no harm in honing up his painting skills for free, right? Right. So he says yes.

“Awesome.” Mr. Way brandishes his smile again, like he’s extremely glad about the arrangement. Dan’s heart may or may not have fluttered. He’ll have to remind the organ later that he’s not a girl.

 

 

* * *

 

Dan bids his friends goodbye and walks up the corridor in the opposite direction as everyone else. He arrives at the art room and takes a few breaths, reminding himself not to do anything stupid, and knocks. When there is still no response after a second round of knocking, he opens the door gently and walks inside to find Mr. Way hovered low over something on the teacher’s desk. At a closer glance, it appears that he’s drawing. Dan shuffles up to the teacher’s desk and stands there for 30 seconds or so, wondering how to say hi without sounding too awkward. Not an easy thing since, y’know, Dan is born to be an awkward teenager, he’s convinced. But still, points for trying, right? 

It’s almost a minute before Mr. Way looks up from his drawing and sees Dan. “Oh, hi! Um, sorry, you can take a seat first, I’ll just be finishing this up.” And he goes back to shading his drawing. Dan doesn’t want to come across as nosy, so he wanders over to the benches and sits, despite his curiosity over what Mr. Way is drawing. He looks at the art room, noting in detail about its differences from the old art room, and occasionally he would sneak a few glances at Mr. Way. The teacher is wholly concentrated on his drawing, a few strands of hair falling like a curtain in front of his face. Dan feels a tingly urge in his fingers to push back the strands of hair and tug them behind Mr. Way’s ears – he stops himself before the thought can go any further. He resumes staring emptily at the art room just to avoid treading in dangerous waters again.

“Okay, so, Daniel.” Dan looks to the teacher’s desk, where Mr. Way’s sat and now, looking at Dan attentively. He lets out a breath he wasn’t aware he was holding. “What would you like to do now? Do you want to practice basic skills or just get on with your painting?”

“Um, I think… I don’t know.” Dan blushes, his response making him feel entirely inept.

“How about we take a look at your painting and see what’s wrong first? Maybe then I’ll know which parts you’ll need help on.”

Dan doesn’t trust himself to speak anymore, so he just nods. Mr. Way rises and goes to get the painting, and Dan feels awkward again, so he just stares at his toes until Mr. Way’s come over and set the painting on the surface of the bench. He looks at the painting and grimaces. The brushstrokes are either too strong or too light, and some parts of the canvas look as if it’s bleeding because Dan is still a noob at mixing the paint with water. Dan looks up and sees Mr. Way surveying the mess that is his painting, too. Probably thinking of ways to save the mess. Dan waits.

“So I think it’s better if we start from the basics,” Mr. Way says after a while. And so begins their little extra sessions after school.

 

 

* * *

 

Dan goes to the art room afterschool whenever he’s free. If you ask him, he’ll most probably deny that he’s just pining for Mr. Way, hard. Although, he’s definitely not complaining about being all alone in the art room with the extremely attractive teacher, no matter how creepy that sounds.

They also kind of bond over the lessons, idle conversations revealing that both of them like alternative rock music and horror movies. Sometimes they’ll have debates over the two subjects. Although mostly, Dan just admires everything Mr. Way says and goes home to listen to the entire Misfits catalogue the day Mr. Way said he likes the band.

(At some point Dan succeeds in getting Mr. Way to call him Dan instead of the full name, and he counts that one as a small victory, even if he’s going to pine for rest of eternity.)

Dan also notices little things about Mr. Way. Like the fact that he wears chipped black nail polish on the days when he doesn’t have classes with the lower years (lest the stupider students mock him for it), and the way his hair’s tidiness is in correlation with the amount of assignment he has to mark. One time during a conversation over cleaning up paintbrushes together, Dan learns that Mr. Way has a penchant for all kinds of coffee, and the next day he runs to the nearest Starbucks afterschool before he shows up at the art room, coffee in hand. He has a semi-heart attack at the infectious beam Mr. Way gives him.

Since then, he’s been bringing Mr. Way coffee as frequently as possible. Dan thinks there’s some kind of rule against students bringing random gifts to their teachers, but considering how Mr. Way’s been sparing his time to teach Dan extra lessons about painting techniques, it only seems fair.

(It is an absolutely absurd notion that he is seducing his teacher with coffee. He isn’t.)

One day Mr. Way asks him about his earrings, and they launch into this big discussion about accessories and heteronormativity. That’s how Dan finds out about Mr. Way’s bisexuality (although, it isn’t like he’s the straightest person around) and somehow, Dan wounds up confessing his bisexuality as well. Mr. Way stops mid-rant and looks at Dan for a moment, before asking, quietly, if it’s true.

“Uh, sure?” Dan replies, puzzled.

“Does anybody else know?” Mr. Way looks a bit concerned, and Dan doesn’t understand why.

"My friends do. I think a few other people who went to last year's Christmas house party also knows…" Dan blushes, but he doesn't specify. Mr. Way doesn't seem to pick up on it, and if he noticed Dan's hesitation, he didn't ask, so Dan continues, "Why?"

"It's just that growing up, I got a lot of shit for being the gay art kid." Mr. Way says, a bit muted. He has a bit of a sad look in his eyes, distant unhappy memories unfolding in his mind. Dan wants to hug Mr. Way, just do something, to make that look go away. He doesn't. He just puts a hand on Mr. Way's arm, uttering, "I'm sorry." The touch snaps the teacher out of reminiscence, and he looks at Dan, smiling, albeit a bit sadly still. "It's okay. You're a lucky kid." Mr. Way's smile turns up a few notches, and he looks at Dan in the eye. "You have great friends, and this is a great school. Don't let anything stop you, alright?"

Dan doesn't really know what to say to that, so he nods. Mr. Way's smile widens to a proper smile, and Dan feels himself smiling back in return. It's a few seconds before Dan realises his hand is still on Mr. Way's arms, and that they are still staring at each other. He retracts his hand a bit too hastily, although Mr. Way doesn't seem to notice.

He's turning back to the sketch in front of them, that they're supposed to be rectifying, and Mr. Way asks, "Do your parents know?"

"Probably not. I mean, I haven't told them yet."

"You should," Mr. Way tells him, and Dan nods again. But Mr. Way insists, "Promise me you will, Dan."

Dan thinks it's a little weird, but he promises anyway. Mr. Way grants him with another gentle smile, and Dan has fucking butterflies in his stomach now.

So they're both bisexual. It doesn't mean anything.

 

 

* * *

 

So Dan should probably have thought things through a bit more, because he never thought the extra lessons would be a problem until Mr. Way started teaching him about brushstrokes. It never occurred to Dan that he’d suck so much at controlling the paintbrush that Mr. Way has to grip his hand with his own, but it happens. Dan has a hard time suppressing a boner; thinking about dead birds and his grandma doesn’t work half as well when he’s got Mr. Way’s warm hand on his own. Mr. Way is hovering over him, close enough that Dan can hear his every breath, and Dan has to keep his breathing in check every second. Mr. Way lets Dan paint on his own after a torturous ten minutes, but he still remains too close to Dan and seriously, it’d take supreme willpower for Dan not to just turn around and jump his teacher on the spot. Dan still manages to finish the painting exercise with a pretty satisfying result, the still life objects at least looking more realistic than Dan’s usual works. He whips around to announce his success – only to find Mr. Way still entirely too close, so close that Dan can see the splashes of dull gold in his eyes, and the tiny freckles scattered over his face, only visible this up close. He’s beautiful.

Suddenly, Dan’s painfully aware of the minimal gap between them, and he knows, if he were to just lean forward a little bit, he’d be kissing Mr. Way.

He spins away before anything can happen, and for the rest of the session, he remains quiet.

He ends up having to deal with a hard-on that night, and he tries not to think of Mr. Way’s face because then he would never be able to look the teacher in the eye. He has to stop for several times just to stop his mind from straying to Mr. Way’s hazel eyes, gentle smiles or long long legs. In the end he manages to get off with Buffy on his mind, although he still feels wound up afterwards.

The feeling doesn’t go away until he sees Mr. Way smiling, cradling a cup of coffee the next day.

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

 

 

* * *

 

The thing is, Mr. Smith’s been discharged from the hospital for a little over a week now, but Dan’s still keeping up with his extra lessons with Mr. Way. Mr. Way hasn’t said anything about that yet, and Dan just kinda assumes he’s still welcomed at the art room afterschool, although it would suck horribly if he ever told Dan otherwise. But he’s still greeting Dan with warm smiles every time Dan shows up at the door of the art room, and Dan doesn’t understand how he isn’t grating on his nerves yet.

It’s another day after school, and Dan catches himself declining Chris’s invite to go the malls and pester PJ, who’s having his shift at the clothing store. He makes up a bullshit excuse about a biology lab report that’s due in that week, and Chris looks at him suspiciously for a moment before letting him go. Dan all but runs to the art room when Chris has disappeared out the front gates, and silently wonders why he’s choosing art lessons over his friends now, and more importantly, why he’s lying about it.

Dan’s beginning to realise that he looks forward to these little extra lessons a lot more than he should, and some days, those are the only things that gives him the vigour to go to school at all. He tells Mr. Way this much, somehow feeling that the important discovery should be shared.

“I look forward to our lessons everyday too, Dan,” Mr. Way concurs, gentle-voiced. Mr. Way is looking at him with a hint of a smile, and Dan can’t help but match it with his own.

Sometimes Dan visits Mr. Way in the art room just to be near him. Mr. Way lets him in every time, even if Dan is just sitting at the benches doing homework for other subjects. Sometimes they’ll chat, and sometimes they’ll work in silence, Dan typing up essays and Mr. Way marking assignments. Sometimes Dan will look up, and his eyes will meet Mr. Way’s, and they’ll smile.

One time, Dan falls asleep halfway through writing an English assignment. He doesn’t remember falling asleep, just that one second his eyelids are drooping as his scrawls on the page become increasingly messy, and the next second he’s waking to Mr. Way gently shaking his shoulders.

“Dan. Dan, wake up.”

Dan may have made some kind of undignified noise before he opens his eyes. He sees Mr. Way smiling down at him, almost affectionately. Dan’s stomach somersaults. His brain’s just tired and he’s overanalysing things. He gets up from his sprawl over the surface of the bench and packs his stuff in silence. They walk out of the art room in companionable silence, only broken when Dan’s phone buzzes against his leg in his side pocket. It’s his mum, and she’s semi-hollering down the line about the whole family waiting for him at the dinner table, and if he doesn’t come home this second, Daniel James Howell, she will make sure he gets no internet for the rest of the month. Dan blanches, and his mum’s already hung up before he has a chance to protest. He checks the time and shit, it’s nearing half past seven.

“You want a ride?” Mr. Way offers. Dan looks at him maybe a bit adoringly, nods fervently, and Mr. Way laughs. “I’d feel bad about leaving you all alone here at night anyway. Come on, this way.” Mr. Way nods in the direction of the teacher’s car park, and Dan stumbles a bit to follow. They stop in front of a Subaru that just sort of blends in with the background, and Mr. Way unlocks the doors, getting into the driver’s seat himself. Dan stands there for a moment, looking dumb, before Mr. Way pats a bit at the shotgun seat, and Dan gets in.

Dan gives directions to his home, and he doesn’t fall asleep once. He’s too alert, the enclosed space of the car somehow making him feel like he’s too close to Mr. Way. (He’s afraid of what he’ll do, if he’s given the chance.) It’s not enough to make him claustrophobic, but it eats at his brain. He stays still as a stone the entire way, and he only relaxes when they slow to a stop in front of Dan’s house. “Here’s your stop,” Mr. Way says, maybe a bit unnecessarily, and Dan snaps out of his motionlessness. He looks up at Mr. Way, who’s eternally smiling, and it tugs at Dan’s heartstrings. He breaks, and before he knows it, he’s clinging to Mr. Way with a hug.

Mr. Way gives a little huff of laughter, surprised, but he hugs back. When they break apart, Dan’s got the biggest grin on his face, and he’s never felt so alive before. He gets off the car, school bag clutched against his chest, and he casts a lingering look at the teacher. “Have a nice evening, Dan,” Mr. Way says, like he really means it, and Dan believes him.

“You too, Mr. Way.” Dan gives an awkward little wave and walks slowly up to his house, where his mother will inevitably be waiting for him at the dinner table with another lecture about punctuality. He doesn’t give a shit, though. He’s happy now, feeling slightly like floating on a cloud, like the world is his and he can just reach out and grab any one of the stars tonight, and they’ll oblige to be collected.

It isn’t until his mum mentions the time again that Dan realises Mr. Way probably waited a full twenty minutes before waking Dan up, because when Dan opened his eyes, Mr. Way’s desk was cleared, and the teacher good to go. Then he recalls that the teacher never had that much work to do that afternoon, to begin with, and there was absolutely no need for him to stay until seven. Dan’s heart does something odd, he can’t quite describe it, but it’s odd in a good way. He’s a balloon that’s strayed away from the ground, head bumping against the ceiling, and he’s staying there for the rest of the night.

 

 

* * *

 

It’s only the next morning, when he gets ready to leave the house, that he realises he left his hoodie in Mr. Way’s car last night. He does the obligatory internal freak-out before he tumbles out onto the road. Good thing he isn’t too late today to skip the school bus, so that he wouldn’t have to bear the cold (his other jackets are never warm enough; besides, that one is his favourite hoodie and it fits just right). He worries his head off until he sees Mr. Way coming up to him, hoodie in hand during the afterschool lesson that day, and Dan’s heart does that weird thing again. Dan hugs Mr. Way as well, slightly testing the waters, but Mr. Way surprises him by reciprocating the hug yet again. Dan can’t help but think he’s like a big Teddy Bear hidden under the sophisticated appearance, all soft and squishy and cuddly, and Dan laughs out loud at the silly notion. Mr. Way asks why he’s laughing, and Dan wouldn’t spill, so he pesters him until Dan relents. He comes right out with it and says it exactly the way he thought it, and then he thinks maybe he’s crossed a line there, but then Mr. Way’s cracking up with this loud honking cackle, just slightly bordering on obnoxious. Dan decides he likes it, because Mr. Way rarely laughs out loud. (Then again, Dan’s yet to find one thing about Mr. Way that he doesn’t like.) Before long, Dan joins him, and they just stand there laughing like idiots.

After that, Dan’s taken to be more tactile with Mr. Way. The teacher doesn’t mind it, and sometimes he’ll even laugh when Dan practices surprise ninja hug attacks on him. Although, Dan feels kinda weird when he’s in a room full of other students, because the distance between him and Mr. Way just doesn’t feel right, but it’d be worse if he actually hugged Mr. Way in front of everybody else. For a brief moment, Dan feels slightly possessive; then he admonishes himself for feeling that way, because he doesn’t have a monopoly on the teacher. He’s just a stupid 16-going-on-17 year-old with a crush on his art teacher. He suspects that this little crush has developed into something more, maybe even as severe as infatuation, but he’s okay with that, as long as he gets to see Mr. Way every day.

Then he stops that train of thought entirely before it can progress anymore, because he may be lame, but he’s not that pathetic.

 

 

* * *

 

But it gets difficult when Mr. Way’s being so friendly with him, and sometimes Dan just can’t see where the line is anymore. They’re just poring over comics together, the books spread out over the teacher’s desk. Mr. Way finally brought in his favourite ones to show Dan, instead of just ranting all about the wonderfulness of comics. Sometimes Dan swears the teacher is just as geeky as himself, and that’s saying something.

So right now, Mr. Way is introducing a whole new world of superheroes to him, and Dan is listening with rapt attention. It’s just something about the way Mr. Way’s entire expression lights up at the mention of comics and illustrations, and his excitement is almost contagious. He rambles about comic characters and story arcs unfamiliar to Dan, and he makes it all sound so wonderfully interesting. Although, Dan figures Mr. Way could be postulating about lollipops for all he cares, and Dan will still find it interesting. Dan’s opinion’s kind of invalid in that sense.

After a while, Mr. Way’s big long speech dies down a little, and they’re just flicking through the comics, cocooned in a comfortable silence. It’s a peaceful quiet, the rambunctious noises of daytime all gone with the last students that’s trickled out the school gates. For a moment, it’s like the only people left in the world is the two of them, and it feels – safe. Dan closes his eyes for a moment, just taking a few calming breaths and revelling in the feeling. When he opens his eyes and looks up at his teacher, he is surprised to see Mr. Way already looking at him, quiet and unblinking. His expression is serious, but mostly unfathomable. Whatever Dan’s about to stay dies in a stutter, and his breath hitches.

Dan thinks he’s starting to blush again, and he looks back down at his comic before his traitorous face gives him away. A distinct sound of pencil scratching against paper breaks the silence, and Dan looks up to see Mr. Way drawing in his personal sketchbooks again. It sparks Dan’s curiosity, and he asks to see Mr. Way’s own artwork. They settle into a comfortable rhythm again, flicking through his sketchbooks, Dan occasionally pointing out things and asking Mr. Way about them.

It is only after Mr. Way’s gone to the bathroom that Dan gets bored and, nosing around the sketchbooks once more, finds a sketch of himself on the last page of one of the newer ones. It’s almost as if Mr. Way’s deliberately concealed the sketch, but Dan will analyse the implications of that later. Right now, all he can do is stare in awe at the meticulous details Mr. Way’s put into the sketch, and how eerily accurate his features are. Mr. Way has chosen to sketch him with straight hair, and there is no way it should look as magnificent as it is on paper, because every time Dan looks into the mirror, all he sees is an awkward teenage boy with a stupid face. Dan _doesn’t understand_.

“I thought straight hair suited you better,” Mr. Way says over Dan’s shoulder, and Dan jumps, putting down the sketchbook guiltily. Mr. Way rounds the desk and sits in his chair again, his expression nothing but neutral, like he isn’t even the slightest bit annoyed that Dan’s been helping himself to his things.

“How do you do it?” Dan blurts out, and Mr. Way looks at him a little questioningly. “I mean, this looks like a tonne of effort, but I’d take days and never be able to replicate a piece half as amazing as his one.” He gestures at the sketch of himself. “I – forget it, it was a stupid question. I guess I’m just trying to say that this is a really amazing drawing, and you’re just too talented.”

“So you like it?” Mr. Way has a smile on his face, but it looks almost… shy.

“Of course I do! I love it!” Dan says with a wide smile. Mr. Way offers to draw Dan a better one – seriously, _better one_? This one’s already perfect, in Dan’s opinion – and Dan just has to hug Mr. Way, laughing in delight. He vaguely thinks that he’s been doing that a lot lately, hugging the teacher, but it feels almost like a natural thing to do, like it would be wrong if he was to never hug the teacher ever again.

Mr. Way’s arms wrap around Dan’s back, and Dan thinks they fit just right.

 

 

* * *

****

"Dan? Dan! Earth to Dan Howell!"

"I – sorry, what?" Dan's pulled out of his reverie by Phil's cry, to see the rest of the Fantastic Foursome gang snickering in sync over the yucky, quite untouched school dinner.

"Seriously Dan, Phil's been asking you the same question for three times now and you're still lost in daydreams." There's nothing accusatory about Chris's tone, but Dan blushes nonetheless.

"I guess… I'm tired?" But even Dan himself doesn't sound very convinced.

Even PJ fixes him with a _yeah, right_ look. Dan kind of wilts a little.

"Is something wrong?" Phil asks casually, although Dan can hear the underlying worry. Dan just shakes his head though. Whatever's going on with Mr. Way is actually kind of awesome. Dan has to suppress a smile when he thinks about the teacher and the time they spend together.

Unfortunately, Chris picks up on that immediately. "Wait, I know! You've hooked up with someone, isn't it!" And before Dan can deny, or answer at all, Chris goes on to fire a series of question. "Who is it? Is she pretty? Hot? Smart? Or is it a he?"

Dan almost chokes on his juicebox at the last question. He hacks a few coughs that make him sound like he's dying, but when he's recovered enough, he pins Chris with a _you're kidding, right?_ look. Well, at least he hopes he got the look right. "I haven't hooked up with anyone," Dan clarifies, and, what, he's telling the truth! He hasn't hooked up with the art teacher (yet? Dan's brain, quite unhelpfully, inserted a 'yet' there) and he is positively single. "And honestly, do I look like I do relationships? I'd probably scare the other person away in five seconds flat."

"Hey, no, I think you're pretty charming," PJ says, and only PJ can make a comment like that and come out sounding completely neutral and sincere. If Chris said the same thing, he'd only make it sound like a pick-up line. It probably has something to do with that permanent leer Chris has on his face.

"Well, thanks. But I'm probably gonna be single for a while." And Dan shrugs, because he really doesn't care. So what if he pines for a teacher? It's not like he's stalking anyone.

Phil pats his arm almost consolingly, and Dan decides he loves his friends.

"Well, you wanna come along to this party on Friday? Afterschool, Stephen's place." Chris offers, and Dan knows he means well, although he can't help but feel like it's going to be another one of Chris's botched attempts at being Dan's matchmaker. Dan agrees to go anyway; at least all his friends will be there.

'Sides, Dan should really stop obsessing over someone he obviously can't have. Maybe he really will meet someone within his league. Who knows.

 

 

* * *

****

Some people say teenage years is when you do dumb stuff, and Dan can back this up with some of his drunken adventures in empty fields and the pranks he pulls sometimes, but he's pretty sure none of those 'dumb stuff' included this.

Because right now, Dan is drunk. He is so unbelievably drunk, it's not even funny. He has no idea how he ended up this drunk, because he's positive he only consumed one cup of wine since he stepped foot in the house, and he did so by few and far between sips as well. Someone must have spiked his cups of soda afterwards, and he groans inwardly. He knows he's gonna have a killer hangover the next morning, and he really doesn't know how he's gonna hide that from his mom. Being grounded always sucks.

But, for now, he's mostly feeling way too happy. Like, artificially happy – and is that even a thing? Well it is now, Dan just invented it, whey. Dan's giggling to himself before he knows it, but then promptly clamps his mouth shut because, ew, he's not that gay. He thinks PJ shouts in his left ear – or right, Dan can't even distinguish between his two ears now, what the fuck – a question asking how drunk is Dan, and seriously, does he have to ask Dan? Dan doesn't even know which way's up and which way's down now, and how does he expect him to answer anyway? It's not like Dan can just pinpoint his drunkenness, say, on a scale of one to ten. Dan slurs something like an "I don't know", shaking his head, which is apparently a bad idea because the room spins twice as fast, and Dan collapses into a heap by the wall. PJ sits with him a while, and when Dan appears to stay put, he gets up to go seek out Phil because he's not wasting the party away standing guard for Dan, dammit. So Dan just sort of sits there, because now his legs aren't listening to his brain anymore, not even when he pokes at them.

At some point, Dan gets bored observing other people on different levels of drunkenness, and he sticks his hands in his side pockets just to see what treasure he can find in there. He fishes out a few coins, a phone, and some crumpled up receipt. The phone seems like the object that can entertain him the most, so he flips it open and checks for any missed calls from home, and the next thing he knows he's navigated to his contacts list.

Now, the thing is, somewhere along the way of Dan starting the afterschool sessions with Mr. Way and him sitting here on the floor, drunk, Mr. Way gave him his number for emergency purposes, so that Dan can contact him for any art-related problem he encounters even when he's outside of school. What Mr. Way most probably did not intend to happen when he gave Dan the number, was a drunken call from the student at 1am in the morning. But for some reason, Dan's stupid brain thinks it's a good idea to call Mr. Way and be as blunt possible, which is how he ended up drunk-dialling the teacher's number, completely wasted and sprawled on the floor of Stephen's living room.

Mr. Way doesn't answer his phone and it jumps to voicemail, but that's okay, Dan can cope. He can still do his impromptu confession. "Mr. Way. Mr. Waaaaaaay," he begins, and that sounds really funny, so Dan has to pause to giggle a bit. "God, you're so hot, did you know that? It should be like, a known fact that gets published. I always thought you were hot, since the day we met. And," Dan pauses again to gather his thoughts a bit because they're scattering all over the place, "You're the most nice, the most nicest person I've ever met. And I love it when we spend time alone in the art room, y'know? I love it a lot. I just thought I should tell you. I like you." Dan pauses, and he's got this goofy smile all stretched across his lips as he sighs dreamily. But then he remember he's still on the line, so he starts talking again. "I just… I just like you so much, Mr. Way. I'm in like with you." He giggles again, but he's running out of things to say, so he whispers a "goodnight, Mr. Way", and hangs up.

It isn't until he scrolls through his phone's call history the next afternoon, battling the ultimate headache, that he realises, in horror, the true nature of what he's done.

Dan is properly fucked this time.

 

 

* * *

****

Dan wakes up, and nevermind that splitting headache, he just wants to burrow deeper into the tangle of sheets and go back to sleep, so that he doesn’t have to face the consequences.

Or quite possibly crawl into a hole and _die_ , if he doesn’t already die of embarrassment.

He just can’t believe he did that. What was he thinking? Was he even thinking? He decides he should never again be left alone with a phone when he’s drunk, but for now, not even a wise decision (for once) can save his ass from the current plight. Hell, he isn’t even worrying about the status quo he’s achieved between him and Mr. Way – whatever they had, he’s pretty sure he’s completely obliterated it with that single phone call. The worst part is that he can’t even seek solace in relaying the story to his friends so he can have a good moan about it. Even his close to non-existent ego can’t tolerate being laughed at for being a failboat about his crush on a teacher.

He’s just dreading facing the teacher at school on Monday.

That worry soon proved superfluous, however, because Dan does end up getting grounded. Nothing escapes his mother’s eye, and especially not Dan’s tell-tale hungover state. Dan can just see his mother’s disapproving glare behind his eyes, and he sighs. Since his sessions with Mr. Way were never officially approved by the school, he can’t exactly get a permission slip issued to him, so he really has no valid reason as to why he should be staying after school. So he’s to come straight home after school everyday.

He’s two-parts relieved and one-part bitter.

He spends the entire Saturday in bed until his mum comes in and kicks him out. Just because he’s grounded doesn’t mean he can ‘mope his life away’.

“And I don’t care if you’re having a hangover. You should know better, mister.” And Dan could cry.

So he leaves his room, and eats, and breathes, and lives. But he’s still stewing in misery when Monday rolls around.

 

 

* * *

 

Dan tries his best to avoid Mr. Way, but there are limits when he doesn’t want his friends to start suspecting that he needs help. He still counts it as a success that he only crosses paths with Mr. Way after lunch, when everybody is hurrying to their classes. He catches a good glimpse of the teacher in the hallway, and… Mr. Way doesn’t look affected at all. 

Dan turns away, and he isn’t sure whether to be relieved that he didn’t scare his teacher too badly, or disappointed that Dan meant so little to him, he didn’t even take what Dan said to heart. Whatever. It isn’t like he ever had a chance with Mr. Way anyway – he’s a teacher, honestly what did he expect? It’s probably a good thing that Dan stops interacting with him at all now, at least he wouldn’t have done something _physical_ that he’d regret.

Actually, that’s only his conscience speaking, and God knows his morals have nothing on his decisions. It isn’t before long when Dan finds himself daydreaming about Mr. Way again, this time even during lesson time. At first he isn’t even aware that he’s doing it, but when he gets a call of his name and the whole class looking at him, some snickers breaking out here and there, he knows he’s screwed. He looks up to find Ms. Payne looking annoyed, and it’s just his luck that he gets caught daydreaming in a class he actually likes. Even more so when the teacher stops him when he tries to bolt after class, and starts talking about class-time behaviour and all that jazz. All Dan can do is nod guiltily and book it out of there the instant she dismisses him.

Fucking fantastic. He totally needs to be in Ms. Payne’s good graces if he’s gonna get that A for English, but he just has to fuck that up as well. He swears loudly when he’s sure he’s out of her earshot, collects himself, and heads to the lunchroom to have another try at the horrible things known as school dinner.

(He reaches his usual table to find his friends exchanging glances, and Dan asks what. All they do is shake their heads and resume eating. Truth is, his friends do notice that something’s up with Dan, but nobody’s said anything yet, and Dan’s obviously not going to, so all they can do is subtly ask Dan whether he’s alright. To which Dan says he’s fine every time, and things get a little tense for a few days.)

All too soon, Dan catches himself daydreaming about Mr. Way on a more frequent basis than should be. He’s pretty sure it isn’t at all healthy, but he can’t really find the heart to stop himself. In the safety of his bedroom, he often makes up whole scenes on what could potentially happen if he ever does talk to Mr. Way again, and they’ll always end happily, Mr. Way accepting his apology and them returning to their previous status quo. In his wildest dreams he even gets to star in the cliché kiss scene.

But that’s all they are, just dreams. During daytime, more glimpses of the teacher around the school reminds him painfully of what he’s done, and he’s so far off from what he wants. Sometimes he just feels like hating everything, hating himself, and generally being a big pathetic emo loser.

He is quite aware that he’s being uber melodramatic, but just fucking let him stew in his misery would you. It’ll all eventually pass; after all, all he has is a stupid infatuation.

But then, Mr. Way comes up to him looking all handsome and self-confident, exactly everything Dan wants to be and isn’t, and how is Dan supposed to put it all out of his mind?

It happens a little over three weeks after the incident. Dan is packing his stuff at the lockers afterschool and chatting with Lex. And honestly, how did he not know that PJ had such an awesome girlfriend? She is letting Dan borrow her History notes and stuff, not to mention her sense of sarcasm that Dan totally shares. Dan needs to start hanging out with her a lot more, and that’s going on his to-do list. By the time he’s said goodbye, he’s still, for once, in a pretty good mood. Maybe even happy enough to sing Beyonce’s songs in the bathroom for the first time in weeks (and that’s totally a legit way to deal with stress and celebrate the return of happiness, shut up), when he turns around and sees Mr. Way walking towards him.

“Daniel?”

 _Oh shit._ Furtively, he looks around for a crowd to duck into because he really doesn’t need to deal with this right now, but finds the hallway pretty deserted. He checks his watch, and oh, apparently he’s been talking with Lex for a whole ten minutes and now most people have left the school already. But Lex is also gone now, so Dan really doesn’t have any excuse to run away. So Dan takes a deep breath to calm himself, and looks up. He’s gonna take this like a man.

“Yes?” His stoic façade is kind of ruined by his choked voice because shit, he’s forgotten how beautiful Mr. Way actually is. That thought’s followed a few seconds later by another one that reminds him Mr. Way’s a teacher, and that Dan’s pining is what’s got him into this mess in the first place. And that’s when Dan’s determination completely crumbles as he lets slip a miserable look or two.

He has to try though. He has to try to amend things a bit, because he’s got way too many first-hand experiences to tell him that procrastination will only worsen the situation. “Um, sir, if this is about—”

“Come to my office, Daniel. We’ll continue this conversation there.” Mr. Way’s tone is surprisingly gentle, though still pretty indiscernible. Dan can’t tell if he’s mad or not, but Dan’s brain seems intent on telling him he’s _doomed_. So, Dan’s reply is a short and meek “Okay”.

Walking down the hallway to Mr. Way’s office has got to be the hardest thing he's had to do since birth. His palms keep getting sweaty, but by the time he’s wiped them on his trousers they’re sweaty all over again. His stomach is definitely twisting itself into knots, and he may have felt weak in the knees. He may also have trouble breathing, but then he tells his brain to knock it off because being a drama queen’s not going to help. He still feels like a prisoner on death row though.

(Oh God oh God oh _God_ , why did Dan agree to go to that party again?)

By the time they’ve arrived at the office, Dan’s ready to collapse onto the doorframe just for support. It has to be pure luck that Mr. Way thinks to tell Dan to sit on the sofa.

Mr. Way’s sauntered over to a coffee machine, and Dan looks around. It’s not exactly an office per se, but it’s too homely to be some kind of prep room or supplies storage. He’s suddenly thankful that Mr. Way didn’t choose to bring them to the art room, because Dan wouldn’t be able to deal with the memories. Dan sighs, and plays with the cuffs of his sleeves until Mr. Way offers him coffee.

Wait, seriously?

Dan declines, but he’s all the more confused now. Why isn’t Mr. Way mad at him? Why is he stalling? Dan almost wants Mr. Way to be mad at him. He doesn’t want Mr. Way being all nice to him. He doesn’t deserve it. He doesn’t want to feel like he’s still got a chance to interact with the teacher at all. He doesn’t trust himself not to somehow fuck it up in another way. He’s heartbroken enough as it is, even if it sounds super melodramatic and unbelievably gay when he puts it that way.

“Mr. Way, if you’re gonna yell at me, I think now’s a good time as any,” Dan says morosely, but determined. Mr. Way looks up with a mildly surprised expression, but Dan mentally dismisses it. “And then I’ll just go and leave you alone forever. I’ll understand it if you hate me.”

“Hold on a sec. You think I’m mad at you?” Mr. Way looks almost incredulous, and Dan blinks, puzzled.

“Why wouldn’t you be mad at me? I called you, drunk, and I pretty much told you I want to get in your pants.” Dan cringes. He regrets his choice of words, but more importantly, hates that he has to make it explicit. But it seems as if Mr. Way is the one here who doesn’t get the gravity of the situation.

Mr. Way sighs and sets down his cup of coffee at the table and joins Dan on the couch, sitting down at the other end. “Dan, I’m not angry with you.” Dan looks up, surprised to hear the teacher calling him by his nickname again. Mr. Way runs a hand through his hair, expression kind of shrouded. “I’m not sure why, but I’m not angry.” Dan feels like there’s something Mr Way’s deliberately omitting, and that should feel condescending, but the latter part of the remark has Dan completely disarmed. Mr. Way’s not actually angry at him, and that’s more than Dan could ask for right now.

But he can’t be too sure. “So you’re okay with it?” He asks, carefully.

“Well, no, I’m not really okay with the bit where you got drunk.” Mr. Way pauses, and Dan looks up guilty. He should’ve known he wouldn’t be able to get through this unscathed. At least he’s getting the no-alcohol speech instead of a you’re-a-creep speech. “Dan, do you have any idea how dangerous it could be?”

Dan feels a lot like when he’s trying to fend off his mum. “I know, I didn’t even want to get drunk, someone—”

“What happened isn’t important. It’s the end that’s important, and you got drunk. Now promise me you won’t do that again, because getting wasted is the most stupid and dangerous idea ever. And I don’t mean to come across as patronising, but you’re not even at legal drinking age yet.”

Dan knows it’s a close call he didn’t get rejection in the face, but he still can’t help but feel annoyed. “Mr. Way, it was just a stupid mistake. I don’t need you to tell me that. My mum’s already got me grounded for it.”

Mr. Way’s expression softens, and he mumbles something like, “So that’s why you never came back to the afterschool sessions anymore,” tone almost wistful, and he looks like he want to say _I missed you_ instead.

“Yeah,” Dan says. _I wasn’t trying to avoid you on purpose or anything_ , Dan doesn’t say. Dan picks up on the fact that Mr. Way wanted him back in the art room even after the phone call, and he doesn’t know what to do with that. Should he feel elated? Or just confused because Mr. Way’s still not running away from the creepiness that’s practically emanating from Dan?

There’s a few seconds of silence before Mr. Way breaks it. “I know you didn’t mean to Dan, but please, please promise me you won’t get wasted again.” Mr. Way looks at Dan kind of imploringly, and Dan’s still equal parts confused and touched to know that Mr. Way still likes him. He just has to say yes to the promise.

“Not ever?” Mr. Way’s still looking at Dan with this intense concern on his face, and for a moment Dan gets a weird feeling, where things seem to slow down, and he has a hard time forming a reply.

“Not ever.” Dan finally nods firmly, and Mr. Way visibly relaxes.

“And you have to stick to that promise, Dan, because you don’t know how messed up it can be.” Mr. Way reminds Dan one last time before letting the subject drop. Dan feels like Mr. Way’s hiding something again, but he’s not about to ask if Mr. Way’s not ready to tell Dan.

“So… we’re cool?” Dan asks instead, and he suddenly feels shy now, which is kind of ridiculous.

“Uh, yeah.” Mr. Way looks sort of unfocused for a second. Dan realises he’s subconsciously biting his lip again. Huh. Dan unlatches his teeth from his bottom lip, and Mr. Way’s warm smile returns, though it looks a little shaky. “Yeah, we’re cool.”

Dan smiles back, and it feels like the world has been lifted off his shoulders.

As Dan gets off the couch and makes to leave the office, Mr. Way stops him with a question. “So are you gonna come by afterschool?”

“I think I’ll be free by next week if I can’t wheedle my mum into letting me go early,” Dan jokes, and he really doesn’t know how he’s so composed on the outside when his insides are practically an explosion of rainbow and smiles all threatening to spill over.

“I’m sure your mum will relent,” Mr. Way answers with another one of his winning smiles, and Dan’s heart is ready to burst, seriously. Any remaining tension between the two ebbs away when they exchange fond goodbyes, and when Dan’s outside, he just has to skip down the road. He doesn’t even care how gay he looks right now, because his life is no longer a Shakespearean tragedy. His life is _fucking awesome_.

 

 

* * *

 

Crisis averted, things pretty much go back to normal – at least, as close to normal as could be. Within a week’s time, Dan’s back to hanging off Mr. Way’s shoulders in bear hugs, and they’ve even recovered enough to conduct harmless banter. And Dan is still occasionally staring at the teacher as inconspicuously as possible (maybe even more frequently than before but he absolutely refuses to acknowledge that again). Something’s shifted though; Dan can’t really pinpoint what it is. Maybe it’s all just in Dan’s head, but there are a lot more awkward moments between them now than before the incident, and that definitely sucks.

Dan can’t exactly complain though, because at least the teacher lets him back in.

It’s another Friday afternoon in the art room, and mostly Dan walks into the classroom intending to just loiter around so that he doesn’t have to go home so soon. He definitely didn’t expect Mr. Way to slide a chocolate cupcake across the teacher’s desk when he plops down across him.

“What’s the occasion?” Dan asks, amused. It’s not every day that your teacher gives you a ball of sugary sweetness.

“My birthday,” Mr. Way says simply, with a smirk.

“Oh.” Dan stares at the cupcake for a second. “Gosh. Happy birthday. But you don’t have to give this to me, it’s your birthday and – gosh, I didn’t even buy you a present!”

Mr. Way waves his hand as means to say it’s no big deal. “It’s fine, you didn’t know. ‘Sides, I couldn’t finish all the cupcakes anyway. Ms. Hayley baked enough to feed the staff twice.” Mr. Way finishes with a quiet chuckle.

Dan eyes the cupcake doubtfully for another few seconds, before picking it up and nibbling at it cautiously. He’s silent for a long period of time, thinking whether it’d be rude to just ask Mr. Way about his age. His thoughts quickly stray towards the fact that he didn’t buy anything, nor did he plan anything to celebrate the teacher’s birthday. He quietly agonises over the subject for an even longer period of time – because the teacher has been so kind to him for the better part of the year, and this is probably the best possible time to repay his kindness, but Dan has nothing.

And then it strikes him. “Hey, Mr. Way?”

“Hmm?”

“Wanna go grab a dinner after you get off? On me.” Dan smiles, albeit a little nervously. This has to work, this _has_ to.

“You don’t have to do that. If you’re feeling guilty or something –”

Mr. Way’s about to go into one of his rambles – which, although adorable, can prove to be quite problematic at times – so Dan interrupts him. “No! I just want to give you something. A dinner’s alright, isn’t it?” Dan tries with a grin again.

“Definitely.” Mr. Way answers with a smile of his own. “I just don’t want you to spend money you don’t have.”

“The place we’re going to serves dishes within reasonable prices, if you’re worried.” Dan shrugs.

“Well okay, if you insist.” Mr. Way laughs, and Dan can’t help but feel like he’s accomplished something monumental.

They arrive at the restaurant around six-thirty, having left the school a full hour earlier than normal (Mr. Way insisted, not wanting Dan to go home too late, much against Dan’s indignant protests that his parents won’t mind). It’s just another generic diner, to tell the truth, but it suddenly hits Dan how dubiously reminiscent of a date it all is, especially when they’re led to a table for two. Dan curses himself a little for proposing the idea at all, because he sure as heck didn’t mean to set it up like a date. Perhaps his subconscious has a lot more influence over his decisions than he’d thought. Either way, he sure hopes the teacher doesn’t interpret this the wrong way.

His nervousness pretty much dissipates when the waitress sets down their dishes as ordered, and Mr. Way smiles at him, all bright and brilliant. They hold idle conversations as they eat, and everything just feels so normal and easy.

Dan pays for the meal as promised, much to Mr. Way’s concern (it’s like the teacher has the morals of Jesus himself, gosh) and they’re standing outside the doors of the diner in the blink of an eye. Dan shoves his hands in his pockets just to have something to do, scuffling his shoes against the ground when the silence starts to stretch a bit too thin.

“So… I guess I’ll see you on Monday?” Dan looks up at Mr. Way, slightly trying to hide behind his fringe like it’s going to protect him from a potentially awkward moment.

But the teacher’s response completely takes him by surprise: Mr. Way gathers him into a tight embrace, and it’s a second or two before he realises what’s happened. _His teacher actually hugged him of his own accord._

“Thank you so much for the dinner, Dan.” Mr. Way’s voice is slightly muffled by the hug, but the smile is definitely audible in his voice. Dan beams – he beams so hard he’s sure his face would break – and the beam stays even as they part from their over-prolonged hug.

“It’s nothing, really.” Dan’s trying hard to wipe the grin off his face, though unsuccessfully. “You only get a birthday once a year, you know?”

“No, it’s not that. It’s just – Dan, you _know_ you didn’t have to do all that –”

“No, Mr. Way. Stop. Listen.” Dan looks right at Mr. Way in the eye. “You’re always giving. Always helping me, and never asks for anything in return. You give too much. Sometimes you gotta be the receiver.” His voice turns soft at the last instant, and the words get caught in the evening breeze. Mr. Way is silent, his chest heaving slightly in minute breaths, lips caught in a half-smile, eyes friendly and warm with something else – a foreign emotion Dan can’t quite put his finger on. They’re back to the day in the art room where they’re so close, they could be kissing.

The problem is they’re not kissing, but Mr. Way is still standing there, unmoving and beautiful as a statue straight out of the Greek myths, and Dan _wants_.

Only the sound of his phone buzzing against his leg startles Dan out of his daze, and he fishes his phone out to see a text from Chris. Something about a horror movie marathon tomorrow. Dan shoves his phone back into his pants pocket, but the moment’s gone, and all he’s left with is awkward silence on both fronts.

Behind them, the restaurant’s front door opens and closes. Dan turns around to see a couple in their late forties walking out, and Dan’s chest feels hollow. But it also reminds him that he still doesn’t know Mr. Way’s age, and for a moment he has an internal debate of whether he should ask or not, but his curiosity finally triumphs.

“Um, Mr. Way, if you don’t mind me asking…” Dan searches Mr. Way’s face for approval, but the teacher seems interested in what Dan’s about to say, so he asks. “I never asked but, how old are you today?”

“What’s your guess?” Mr. Way teases, and Dan rolls his eyes.

“I don’t know. Because you look twenty-three.” To be honest, Mr. Way looks twenty, but Dan knows that’s impossible.

Mr. Way just laughs. “I do?” He sounds incredulous, like “twenty-three” is the most ridiculous thing he’s ever heard, and Dan huffs.

“Well you told me to guess!” Dan argues, and Mr. Way’s still laughing.

“Jesus, do I seriously look that young? Thanks, I guess, but I’m way older than that.” Mr. Way’s still smiling, but Dan freezes. Way older?

Before Dan has any more time to think over that sentence, Mr. Way’s already said it. “I’m twenty-seven. Just three years away from the big three-oh.” Mr. Way mock-sighs, but Dan doesn’t hear the rest of the response. His heart seems to stop. Twenty-seven. And all this time Dan’s been crushing on the teacher… who’s now a decade older than Dan, has seen 3652 more days than Dan, has been in school for years by the time Dan was born. And the dinner. All set up like a date, between the two of them when one is old enough to be the cool uncle of the family and Dan the nephew—

Dan shuts his eyes. He feels sick.

“… but I guess it’s a good thing that I look young, although, twenty three? I gotta tell that to Mikey. Oh uh, Mikey’s my little brother. Yeah.” Mr. Way’s apparently gone off on a ramble the entire time Dan’s been having a dramatic inner monologue, and Mr. Way eventually notices Dan’s silence and ashen face. “Uh, Dan, are you okay?”

 _I’m not, I’m really not okay_ , Dan’s tempted to say, preferably accompanied with hysterical laughter. He doesn’t. Instead, he says, “I – I think I should go now.”

“What’s wrong?” Mr. Way asks, voice dripping with worry, and Dan rubs his face in an attempt to stave off whatever emotional breakdown he’ll be having.

“I – I’m sorry Mr. Way. Mum texted me just now and, I should be back home like, twenty minutes ago.” Mr. Way frowns, expression bordering on apologetic, and Dan hates that he has to lie through his teeth to Mr. Way, of all people. “No, no, it’s not your fault. I just, should’ve notified my mum earlier. It’s fine really. But I have to go now.”

“Okay. Do you need a ride?” Mr. Way smiles hopefully, and it’s just too much.

“It’s okay. I can – I can go home by myself. It’s just a fifteen minutes walk from here, it’s alright.” Dan manages, swallowing his despair.

“You sure? It’s pretty dark out –”

“No, it’s alright.” He’s sounding a tad bit frantic, and Dan wants to kick himself. “Thanks, but I can manage it. I’ll see you on Monday, Mr. Way.” He doesn’t hug the teacher as he turns. “Happy birthday,” he croaks out, and runs off into the night before he can be deterred any further.

Stupid. Getting his hopes all up like that again. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

 

 

* * *

 

Dan doesn’t see Mr. Way on Monday, not as he promised.

He’s debated with himself the entire weekend, agonising over whether or not he should just apologise for being weird and running off on Friday and continue as if nothing’s wrong, as if he’s not having the most flaming, obvious crush in history on the teacher. He’ll just have to distance himself a bit, right? But come Monday, he still has no idea which course of action is the best to take, and he’s feeling that same creeping sense of helplessness he had when he nearly fucked it all up with that drunken phone call.

He’s beating himself up with just his own mind, and he really can’t wait to cope with the teacher after school – Dan really can’t help but be sarcastic because who the hell fucks up the same thing twice in two months? No one but Dan, he’ll bet his stupid fucking fringe on it.

Either way, he goes to school determined to meet Mr. Way, but suffering through the temperaments of his history teacher clearly changes things. By the time the bell rings and the last class is dismissed, Dan isn’t so sure. Even on any normal given day, his flight instinct will triumph over his fight instinct – just the fact that his sass becomes close to nonexistent soon as he’s faced with the school jocks proves this much.

And that’s how Dan ends up running away. He’s walked all the way from his locker, in the older wings of the school, to the newer hallway the art room is situated in, and he just – can’t. He’s turned into the next hallway and before he knows it, he’s out of the school gates.

He tells himself he’ll man up and try again tomorrow, but when he repeats the same steps for the next few days after school, he pretty much abandons all plans on going back by the end of the week.

 

 

* * *

 

 _Out of sight, out of mind_ seems to be the strategy Dan’s going along for now, and he knows Mr. Way’s going to come up to him someday, just like he did back when Dan stopped showing up afterschool after the drunken phone call incident. But for now, Dan’s pretty content. Not hanging out at the art room after school does have its merits; now Dan has a lot more free time, and he’s taken to spending more time with his friends. 

The “welcome back” goes unspoken, but Dan senses it. He knows the rest of the Fantastic Foursome has been a bit worried about his recent tendency to decline most invitations to hang out. He’s almost forgotten the sheer radiance of Chris’ smile, or the awesome (albeit unconventional) sense of humour PJ has. And Phil, Phil and his plushies, and how he always falls victim to Dan’s mischief but always laughs along and never gets mad. Being with his friends has never been this easy, easy as breathing air, and Dan can’t believe he’s missed all this in favour of pining uselessly after his art teacher.

They’re discussing Pokemon and sharing stories, and Dan thinks, _this is where I belong_.

 

 

* * *

 

Unfortunately for Dan, that “someday” comes much sooner than he would have liked. It’s barely two weeks after Dan stops showing up in Mr. Way’s art room when Mr. Smith takes a marriage leave, which unfortunately falls on a Tuesday when Dan has an art lesson, right before lunch. It’s not so much the fact that Mr. Smith is absent that’s problematic as the fact that Mr. Way is subbing again. He sees the teacher eyeing him on more than one occasion during the lesson, and Dan curses his luck to all hell.

He spends the better part of the lesson trying to avoid Mr. Way, but his plans all go to shit because when Mr. Way hands them back their sketchbooks, marked and straight from Mr. Smith’s desk as instructed, Dan finds an extra post-it on his sketchbook. There are only four words on the note, and the handwriting’s so distinctly Mr. Way’s that the knowledge alone is sickening. It reads, ‘See me after class’, without any preamble whatsoever, and Dan nearly works himself into hyperventilation.

When the other students are walking out of the art room, Dan sits at his bench, unmoving. Fucking hell, it’s worse than the time he was walking to Mr. Way’s office after the teacher came up to him in the hallway to talk about the drunken phone call. As soon as all the students are out of the door, Mr. Way wastes no time in dumping his paraphernalia on the teacher’s desk and walking over to Dan. Dan almost holds his breath in trepidation.

“You wanna tell me what’s going on, Dan?” Mr. Way’s voice is gentle as ever, although not as calm and controlled as he tries to be, Dan can tell. There’s an accusatory tone lurking underneath, and worry not quite well masked and, well. Dan tries not to think what that might mean.

Dan hasn’t really practiced in front of the mirror or anything, so he can’t give Mr. Way a calculated answer. He also thinks that the teacher deserves much more than a bullshit answer, so he decides honesty is the best policy. Slowly, he says, “Um, you mean why I haven’t been turning up to our extra one-on-one’s?” Dan flinches at his wording – ‘our’. That doesn’t sit right. But he barely has time to mull over it before Mr. Way shoots back with an almost exasperated reply.

“Yes, Dan! What else do you think I might’ve meant? I thought you really were trying to avoid me this time, and I don’t know if it’s because I’ve done anything to set you off!” Even in fury, Mr. Way looks breathtakingly beautiful. But Dan’s the one who’s making him angry, and that feels awful.

“No! No, it’s not you Mr. Way –”

“Then what?” The teacher quite nearly snaps. “You didn’t tell me anything! You just fucking left on Friday and never came back! What was I supposed to think? God, I was worried sick! I thought you weren’t going to school at first, but then, no! There you were sitting in class like nothing the fuck’s wrong! So tell me what’s going on!” Mr. Way’s voice cracks at the last syllable, and Dan sees it: beneath his angry front, Mr. Way is shit scared.

But it’s hard to be the level-headed one here when the other person isn’t trying to see things from his perspective at all. “You bloody want to hear the truth? Do you really want to know why I haven’t been turning up after school?” Dan bites back, and his sass is up on full force.

“Yes! Fucking – yes!”

And Dan’s last line of defence just collapses. “I’ve had a crush on you since day one! I fucking meant it that time I called you, drunk! And then you told me you’re a decade older than me! Is that enough reason for why I’ve been avoiding you?” Dan nearly screams out the last part, and silence hits the room like a hurricane.

Mr. Way is standing there with his mouth open, his face a display of sheer surprise. Somewhere down the hallway, a classroom door slams shut.

“I’m sorry,” Dan whispers, broken, and rushes out of the art room, leaving behind a stunned Mr. Way.

 

 

* * *

 

The rest of the day passes uneventfully, and everything is carrying on so normally – too normally, in fact. It’s almost ironic when you think about it: he’d just had a shouting match with his favourite teacher, in which he basically confessed his undying love for said teacher (God, the _embarrassment_ ), and now he’s sitting in class listening to his history teacher drone on and on about the Spanish Civil War. Dan becomes increasingly agitated as the afternoon classes wear on, and he only marginally survives when the bell rings. He’s out of the school gates in a heartbeat, can’t wait to get out of the suffocating hallways, desperate to be home as soon as possible. 

He forgoes the school bus as well, but that turns out to be a bad idea because now, he’s left all alone to his own thoughts. And suddenly, it’s worse than suffering through classes he could care less. As Dan trudges home in a sulky mood, he thinks, that’s it, he’s totally done for this time. He’s shouted at his teacher for no apparent reason, for something his teacher didn’t do. More to the point, he blurted out that he has a crush on his teacher. Now it’s a fact he can’t deny. And he’s completely ruined their friendship with that one statement.

Fuck.

He’s working himself into a mix of all the worst feelings, and Dan thinks he might’ve used up his last teenage angst quota of the year. And it’s totally his fault too, he thinks, staring down at his beaten and well-worn sneakers. The wilting weed poking out from the concrete on the sidewalk seems to agree as it bends even lower towards the ground.

Dan can’t sleep that night, his body too wired, mind too awake from angsting over the entire situation. He’s even resorted to jamming in his earphones and listening to his saddest songs, and he’s seriously just a step away from writing sad poetry. (He eventually falls asleep, but it’s a fitful and restless one.)

The most pathetic thing is, he’s seriously considering moping the rest of the week away. He’d skip school if circumstances allowed, but as it is his parents are very strict about attendance, so he’d just have to multitask moping and avoiding Mr. Way.

But then he’s not just moping. Whoever came up with the phrase “absence makes the heart grow fonder” is a fucking genius, because yes, that’s exactly what Dan’s experiencing right now. Dan just can’t get Mr. Way out of his mind. With every step he takes, every corner he turns, he’s recalling the teacher’s reaction during their fight, and how he looked so beautiful even in distress. He realises, with horror, that he’s still pining after the teacher – twice as hard now, in fact – even after learning that they have an age difference worth of a fucking decade. And that just makes it all that much worse, because Dan’s disgusted at himself for being such a stupid, pathetic, weakling. But he can’t help himself. _He just can’t help himself._

Dan thinks he should possess the right to say that his life is literally a fucking train wreck.

Probably the best thing that’s happened to Dan since the start of year is that somehow, between the schoolwork and avoiding Mr. Way and spending time with his friends, nobody finds out about the shit he’s in, the grave he’s practically dug for himself.

The flip side is, Dan’s going to pieces and nobody’s there to break his fall.

It all comes to a head on the Friday of the very same week. It’s just his shitty luck that the executives of his parents’ company decide to have a semi-casual dinner with his parents now, and at his parents’ house too. Which basically equates to Dan hiding out anywhere but home, because five years of dining with them has told Dan that they will most probably find another fault about him, and they will have absolutely no qualms about pointing it out. And his parents will look so fucking embarrassed, and Dan will feel so fucking guilty – every time, every goddamn time.

Dan definitely cannot stomach a meal worth of disapproving glances and not-so-subtle criticisms of his hairstyle today. So here he is, holed up in the school library like some friendless loser or high school pariah. Neither of those labels seem appealing, but Dan isn’t up for generally harmless mischief at the mall with his gang, either. Truth be told, he just doesn’t want to be in the presence of any human contact. The library will have to do.

He settles at one obscure corner, huddling up with only his hoodie and rows and rows of books for company. Haphazardly, he picks a book from the shelves and thumbs open a random page, seeing words and not reading them. Afternoon light falls through several windows, painting everything in a lovely tinge of gold. Dan catches himself staring dumbly at the dancing dust motes, and wonders since when had his existence boiled down to such meaningless, pathetic activities.

Eventually, the librarians have to kick him out because nobody wants to stay at school longer than is necessary. It’s the weekends. Six o’clock sharp, Dan shuffles out of the school library in total boredom. He’s about to walk all the way home for the second time to week when the smallest drops of water fall from the sky. It takes less than a minute before a full-on shower comes pouring down, and Dan has to duck back under the eaves of the school’s front doors. And, seriously, fuck his life.

Dan just stands there staring at the rain miserably for a second or two, wondering how on earth did he forget to bring in an umbrella. He heads back in the school building, wandering about aimlessly for a bit, but then he’s stepping into the hallway where Mr. Way’s office is situated, and it’s too late by the time Dan realises so.

Mr. Way has already stepped out into the hallway. He freezes slightly the instant he spots Dan.

Dan’s heart is hammering against his ribcage. Every particle of his body is screaming run, but he stays rooted to the spot. Everything comes rushing back to him in a jumbled-up chaos, the things he’s said to Mr. Way, the way Mr. Way had reacted, and he’s so fucking tired of running away.

Mr. Way walks slowly towards him, almost cautiously, the way a hunter would approach a wounded predator. Except Dan feels like the fucking prey. He swallows thickly, steels himself for what’s about to come.

He’s sort of expected a confrontation, a few questions at least, but it never comes. Instead, Mr. Way asks, not unkindly, “What are you doing here, Dan?”

Mr. Way’s expression is perfectly unreadable, and Dan looks away, focuses on the almost-bare billboard behind Mr. Way instead. “’S raining. I don’t…” Dan means to say he didn’t bring an umbrella, but what comes out instead, is this, “I don’t wanna go home.”

It’s almost a delicate whisper. Dan sounds so fucking young, so terribly naïve even to his own ears. What’s worse is that, Mr. Way gets this horribly concerned expression, like Dan’s some charity case, like Dan’s one of those kids appointed regular checkups with the school’s social counsellor. “Dan –”

“It’s – it’s nothing. I swear it’s not what it seems like,” Dan blurts out, nervous. “Home’s fine, my parents are fine, I’m—” And Dan stops himself before he says “I’m fine”, because he’s so, so not fine. Dan takes a deep breath, and tries again, “Just, my parents have invited these corporate arseholes to dinner and, I really really can’t deal with them right now.” Dan ends his speech with a tight, bitter chuckle, because that’s putting it entirely too lightly.

It’s a second before Dan feels horribly exposed for laying it all out. He curses his tendency to fill the silence with chatter when he’s nervous. And now, there’s an awkward pause between the two of them, making Dan feel even more self-conscious. He adds, “Also, I, um, forgot to bring my umbrella.” He stops short, and he’s reverted to biting his lower lip again, Jesus Christ.

Another moment of silence passes between them, and Mr. Way’s saying, tentatively – hopefully – “Do you maybe… want to come in?”

Dan looks at Mr. Way’s face, searching for any hint to suggest it’s a trap, but all he finds is endless sincerity. It’s a beat before Dan replies, quietly. “Why are you so nice to me?”

“I – sorry?” Mr. Way looks puzzled. That makes two of them.

Dan laughs, a little hysterically.

“You’re always so fucking nice to me. I just – I don’t understand. You didn’t yell at me when I gave you the drunken phone call. And you’re not angry at me now, for what happened on Tuesday. I don’t understand you.” Dan shakes his head, a little incredulously. “You’re always nice to me, and I don’t – I don’t understand. Why?” Dan swallows, and nearly whispers. “Why me?”

Mr. Way closes his eyes. His expression appears tight for a second as he swallows thickly. The moment passes, and his gaze is soft when he opens his eyes. “Dan, you’re – fuck.” He pauses, momentarily closing his eyes again, and takes a deep breath. When he opens his eyes, they’re almost pleading. “Can you please come into the office? We can’t have this conversation here.”

Dan wants to shake his head. He wants to nod. He can’t decide. The silence stretches on forever, and outside, the rain is still pattering against the windows.

Mr. Way’s still looking at Dan with earnest eyes. Dan yields.

Once inside the office, Mr. Way closes the door. Dan stands there, not knowing what to do for a second. Wordlessly, Mr. Way asks Dan to sit on the sofa – the very same sofa Dan sat on during their chat in the aftermath of that incident with the phone call. Mr. Way sits down right next to Dan. He scratches his head. He looks just as unsure as Dan’s feeling.

“Look, this may… be a little weird, but there’s really no other way around it, so I’m just gonna put it bluntly.” Mr. Way pauses for a sigh. “I like you too, Dan.”

Dan freezes. Surely he must’ve misheard his teacher?

“I shouldn’t be telling you this but, I’ve liked you all this time, too.” There’s a hint of a smile on the corners of his mouth. “That’s why I never freaked out at you. That’s why I yelled at you first on Tuesday. I was scared you’d stop turning up again. I guess I should apologise for that. Um.”

Dan looks up at Mr. Way. The teacher likes him back. Likes him back! He feels like he should be smiling too, but some distant part of him is screaming out that there’s something wrong, something missing.

“But it’s pretty obvious that a relationship between the two of us is impossible,” Mr. Way says, and _of course_. Dan looks away; he feels his face fall, and had he seriously expected to share a joyous kiss with the teacher? “I’m sorry, Dan.” He sounds truly sorry, and that kills Dan more than anything else.

“But… I was hoping we could still be friends?” That part comes out sounding a bit meek. Dan looks back up to find Mr. Way with a sad half-smile on his face.

For several seconds, Dan just stares at the ground, silent. It’s not the first time he’s been rejected in the face, but this hits straight home, hits him much harder than all other experiences. His chest feels heavy, but quite miraculously, he doesn’t cry.

Slowly, silently, Dan shakes his head.

“Dan…” Dan looks up, a little mechanically. “I’m sorry…” And really, an apology is all Mr. Way can afford right now, because it’s clear that touching Dan will break him.

But it’s not enough.

“No, you’re not.” Dan says, his voice dead. “You’re not really sorry.”

Mr. Way has the decency to look like he’s sorry though, and that just pisses Dan off.

“You don’t _get_ to be sorry, Mr. Way. Fuck you. Fuck. You.” Dan says, with venom, and he’s out of the office in an instant, stalking down the hallway in blind fury. His fingers are clutching his bag so hard that his knuckles have turned white.

He’s out in the rain the next moment, and he’s thoroughly soaked by the time he realises he really has no idea where he’s going. He stops for a minute, the cool water on his skin soothing and calming him down a bit, and he decides home is probably the next best place to go to right now.

And isn’t it just awesome that he doesn’t get the cliché kiss scene, but he gets the heartbroken-and-wandering-the-streets-as-it-rains-scene instead? Dan kicks a loose pebble on the sidewalk, and it’s nearly not enough to vent his anger. But the pounding rain is fast turning his anger into desperation, and Dan curses his stupid impulse to storm out of the school building. He treads his way home, weary and craving his bed more and more by the second.

He gets as far as eleven blocks from the school campus before he notices a car following him. He looks to the road and, sure enough, there’s Mr. Way’s shabby Subaru coming up. Dan stops walking, and the Subaru stops in front of him. The window rolls down, and Mr. Way leans across the seats to look out.

“The hell do you want now?” Dan asks, irritated and tired, before Mr. Way has a chance to speak.

Mr. Way doesn’t look amused. He yells back, “Are you out of your mind? Get the fuck in before you catch pneumonia!”

Dan looks at Mr. Way for a second, racking his brains for a reason not to succumb, but comes up with nothing. Motherfucker. Fuck Mr. Way and his sensible mind. Fuming, Dan reaches for the door handle, opening it and tumbling onto the shotgun seat. Mr. Way looks at him a bit hopefully, and Dan declares snappily, “I’m still not forgiving you. Just drive."

There’s a slightly defiant twist to Mr. Way’s mouth, and Dan adds, “Please.”

“So… home?” He asks after a pause, and Dan nods tersely.

The entire ride passes in an uncomfortable silence. Dan’s anger dissipates after a while, once again replaced by exhaustion. Mr. Way has turned on the heater and it’s way warm inside the car. Dan’s feeling cosy enough to fall asleep. The gentle rocking of the car as it travels does nothing to help; if anything, it only lulls Dan to sleep. It’s not a very deep sleep however, and when the car slows to a stop, Dan’s eyes flutter open.

He finds Mr. Way’s jacket covering his upper body.

“Um… thanks.” Dan mumbles. “For the ride and the jacket.” He pulls the jacket off and puts it in the backseat.

“No worries,” says Mr. Way, but it’s lacking the usual cheerfulness to his voice. Dan feels slightly guilty.

“I’m sorry for yelling at you earlier.” Dan says, pulling at the cuffs of his own hoodie, eyes deliberately averted so he doesn’t have to see Mr. Way’s expression. “And I guess, yeah, we can still be friends.” Dan sighs heavily, and looks up. He’s close to whispering as he admits, “’Though you know I’ll always want us to be more than that.”

Mr. Way frowns, but Dan shakes his head minutely, effectively silencing any further protest that may come tumbling out of Mr. Way’s mouth. Still staring at Mr. Way, he raises a hand, fucking trembling, but he summons all his courage and finally, _finally_ , brushes a stray piece of hair off of Mr. Way’s forehead and tucks it behind his right ear. He leaves his hand there, and he keeps his eyes wide, pleading. Mr. Way looks back at Dan, unblinking, and something shifts in Mr. Way’s expression. Dan can see his breath catching, and Dan knows he’s got him, somehow.

With his sleep-addled brain cheering him on, Dan suddenly finds himself edging closer. Dan’s so close now, he can feel Mr. Way’s breath on his lips, can see his own reflection in the teacher’s hazels –

Mr. Way splays a hand against Dan’s chest, holding him off. Dan blinks. “Dan, you know I can’t condone –”

“Please. Please.” Dan whispers, voice cracking. He sees the last of Mr. Way’s resolve slipping away from his expression, and when he leans in again, Mr. Way yields.

And they’re kissing. In Mr. Way’s Subaru, parked on the street he grew up in. The street where his house sits, the house where his parents are having dinner with company executives in.

It’s still raining outside. They’re kissing, and they could be anywhere. They could be anyone.

And then, and then – Mr. Way’s pushing Dan off, and Dan frowns. Mr. Way’s closed his eyes, one palm rubbing his left eye.

“What—”

“We can’t do this, Dan.” Mr. Way sounds almost distressed. “I’m your teacher, remember?”

“But you kissed back.” Dan says it softly, and he sounds genuinely confused – because he is. “You liked it too, didn’t you?”

Mr. Way appears to struggle as he grasps for an answer. At length, he says, “Yes. But that’s not the point –”

“What does it matter if you liked it?”

“I’m your teacher! You’re too young!” Mr. Way nearly shouts.

A pause. “You think I’m just a kid.” Dan says, quiet.

“I don’t – God, Dan, don’t do this to me.” Mr. Way’s got a palm over his left eye again.

“Do what?” Dan looks at Mr. Way, wide-eyed.

“This! You know I can’t win.” Mr. Way’s voice breaks a little. Dan’s vaguely aware that he’s seeing a grown man break in front of him. And he knows he’s so close now, he just needs to keep pushing – and this time it’s gonna stick.

“Then don’t fight it.” Dan takes both of Mr. Way’s hands, and Mr. Way lets him. He looks so confused, Dan almost aches for him. “No one has to know. We’re not in school now. I don’t have to be your student.” He leans in slowly as he speaks, and he pauses just before their lips touch. “No one has to know,” he repeats, a whispered promise, and it takes only two seconds before Mr. Way surges forward, catching Dan’s lips in a kiss.

When they part, Mr. Way’s got one hand cupping his face tentatively, and Dan feels his mouth curl up in a small smile. He asks, “Are you okay with this, Mr. Way? We’ll keep this a secret between the two of us, I promise.”

“Gerard. Call me Gerard. And I guess I’m pretty okay with this, yeah.” Mr. Way – _Gerard_ finally smiles, and Dan feels his smile turn triumphant.

“Can I… can I call you my boyfriend?” Dan asks after a while, almost stupidly, and Gerard laughs.

“Whatever you want, sugar.” Gerard winks, and Dan feels a thrill snaking its way up his spine.

They chat a bit more, about meaningless things that would only make sense to the two of them. Dan’s got his fingers tangled in Gerard’s the whole time. He never could stop touching the teacher before, and he certainly cannot let go of his hands now.

After a while, Dan checks the time, and he realises the company executives should be gone by now. He looks back up at Gerard and asks, hopefully, “So… I’ll see you on Monday?”

“Same time in the art room.” Gerard affirms with a smile.

Dan leans in to give Gerard a quick hug, and turns around to open the door. Outside, the rain has pretty much petered out.

“Beautiful name, by the way.” Dan throws over his shoulder with a smirk and, catching Gerard’s beautiful smile in the meagre light of the car, closes the door behind him.

As he runs up to the porch, he fights hard to not do a victorious fist-pump. For the first time he can ever remember, he can’t wait for the weekend to be over.

 

 

 

 

**~END.**

**Author's Note:**

> Also posted on deviantART. Comments are love!  
> And if you liked this fic, why not check out my other fics? Thanks :)


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